If Dorry had not been Dorry, besides being her brother, she would
probably have arrived at a conclusion about the matter much sooner than
she did. Quick people are too apt to imagine that slow people have
nothing to say, or do not know how to say it when they have; while all
the time, for slow and quick alike, there is the old, old story for each
to tell in his own way, which makes the most halting lips momentarily
eloquent, and which both to speaker and listener seems forever new,
fresh, wonderful, and inexhaustibly interesting.

In a retired place like the High Valley intimacies flourish with
wonderful facility and quickness. A month in such a place counts for
more than half a year amid the confusions and interruptions of the city.
Dorry had been struck by Imogen that first evening. He had never got on
very well with girls, or known much about them; there was a delightful
novelty in his present sensations. There was not a word as to the need
of getting back to business after she dawned on his horizon. Quite the
contrary. Two weeks, three, four went by; the original limit set for the
visit was passed, the end of his holiday drew near, and still he stayed
on contentedly, and every day devoted himself more and more to Imogen
Young.

She, on her part, was puzzled and fluttered, but not unhappy. She was
quite alive to Dorry's merits; he was her first admirer, and it was a
new and agreeable feature of life to have one, "like other girls," as
she told herself. Lionel was too much absorbed in his own affairs to
notice or interfere; so the time went on, and the double entanglement
wound itself naturally and happily to its inevitable conclusion.

It was in the beautiful little ravine to the east, which Clover had
named "Penstamen Canyon," from the quantity of those flowers which grew
there, that Dorry made his final declaration. There were no penstamens
in the valley now, no yuccas or columbines, only a few belated autumn
crocuses and the scarlet berried mats of kinnikinick remained; but the
day was as golden-bright as though it were still September.

"We have known each other only four weeks," said Dorry, going straight
to the point in his usual direct fashion; "and if I were going to stay
on I should think I had no right, perhaps, to speak so soon,--for your
sake, mind, not for my own; I could not be surer about my feelings for
you if we had been acquainted for years. But I have to go away before
long, back to my home and